


The Darkened Road

by kaeorin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/M, battle of the five armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: As memories of the battle wash over you, you try not to ask the most important question of all. Where is Thorin?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clear up any confusion: This story takes place immediately following the Battle of the Five Armies, except.......there's not as much death as there is in the movie. The Reader has been with the Company this whole time, and you fought alongside everyone else in the battle.

Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to hold your breath. There was no winning. Even your eyelids seemed as heavy as if there was a pony standing on your face. It would have been so easy to just let go, slip back into the peaceful void of sleep, except there was a sharp exhalation of breath nearby, and then a voice that was strangely familiar, and entirely too loud. Someone barked out orders to someone else—you couldn’t focus in on exactly what he was saying, but you recognized his tone—and you fought even harder to open your eyes.

The room itself wasn’t very bright: only a few torches on the wall and some candles on a table close by illuminated the space, but the light still made you squint. Should you recognize this place? You drew in a breath too quickly, and a spasm gripped your chest. If you coughed, surely you would rip yourself in half. Instead you choked, and tried not to need to breathe at all. There was more shouting from beside you. You reached out a hand to try to silence them, but it dropped back onto the mattress, as heavy as any weapon that the dwarves had ever carried. Someone—the shouter?— gripped your hand, but it was too tight. Were they trembling, or were you? You felt dizzy.

There were footsteps, but you couldn’t quite place where they were coming from. Your eyes were closed again. You couldn’t quite remember when that had happened, but you weren’t displeased. It was easier like this. If the light couldn’t reach your eyes at all, it couldn’t flicker and burn the inside of your head. Slowly, slowly, the muscles in your chest began to relax and your head stopped spinning.

“She’s awake. I saw her. She opened her eyes.” The voice. Recognition gnawed on the edges of your consciousness, but you simply couldn’t focus long enough to figure it out.

“And it’s about time, too. Open your eyes, love, and let’s ‘ave a look.” That was a new voice. The mattress dipped as someone settled themselves on the other side of you and touched your cheek with a warm, gentle hand. There was something about the command that made it impossible not to obey. So, wincing and trying not to breathe too deeply, you braced yourself against the sudden light again and forced your eyes to open. At first, all you could focus on was his beard: snow-white and glorious, even in the gloom that surrounded you. He smiled brightly at you. The sight of him comforted you immediately.

“Balin,” you ventured. Your voice was barely a whisper. Your throat felt like you hadn’t spoken in weeks. How long had you been asleep? Your lungs twitched again, threatening another spasm, but somehow you managed to stay in control. “Am I dead?”

“Nearly so,” he answered gravely. His smile had faded. He looked exhausted. “But I think we found you just in time. You’ll live. At least as long as I have anything to say about it. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” It was as natural a response as breathing. You even tried to sit up, and might even have succeeded, if your entire body had not somehow been filled with molten lead and searing pain while you were asleep. You gasped before you could stop yourself, and collapsed back against the pillow.

“Stubborn thing,” Balin said, and though his eyebrows were furrowed with concern, his voice was fond. “You were run through with a blade and left to die in the muck of the battlefield. You’d do well to lie back and rest for a few more days before leaping out of bed and running about.” His eyes were dull, wholly devoid of any twinkle or hint of humour. There were no jokes here. You closed your eyes and let the memories of the battle wash over you, as painful as they were. You could hear the roar of the armies that had surrounded you, the thunderous sound of feet against the earth. The clanging screams of metal against metal. Weapons against armor. Weapons through flesh. Through bone. Howls of rage and terror and death. The sickening sounds of body after body collapsing around you, never to rise again.

Your chest began to burn and tighten as your heart beat faster, becoming frantic again. Not now. Not in front of Balin. You focused every scrap of your fading consciousness on controlling your breathing. Not too deep, that’ll make you cough again. Not too shallow, or you’ll never get enough air. It was a losing battle. A muffled whimper—yours—broke the silence in the room and might have made your cheeks burn, if they were not already flush with panic.

There, on the ice. Too far away for you to be of any help, but just close enough for you to witness. Thorin, he’d been fighting the pale orc. You hadn’t seen the orc slip beneath the ice—you had been distracted by a few enemies of your own—but you had looked up just in time to watch him crawl out of the water. You had watched, frozen and useless, as the orc drove his blade into Thorin, and though the sounds of battle had instantly swallowed up your scream, you could still remember how it had ripped from the depths of your soul. That must have been the opening that someone else had needed, because you had felt a searing fire wrack your guts, and then a hollow chill, and then nothing. It was over.

“Hey!” Balin’s voice cut through the memories and pulled you back into the present. “Open your eyes. None of that, there. Breathe deep.” His hands were on your shoulders, or maybe they were gripping your hands again. Too tight. You shook your head.

“I can’t. Hurts. No air—”

Balin shot off the bed faster than anyone his age should ever have to move, but you couldn’t keep track of where he went. It was like he simply disappeared the moment he slipped out of your sight. You just wanted to be alone, so you could dissolve into this panic and just ride it out without worrying about worrying Balin, but your heart was already beating too fast. Would it stop? Would it explode? Could you actually tear yourself apart here? Imagine, surviving the battle, only to let your memories kill you.

This wasn’t making anything any better. You couldn’t free your hands from whatever was holding them, and so you simply gave up, digging your nails into whatever it was as though you could physically hold your sanity close.

A moment later—or more, who could tell?—Balin came back. He lifted your head a bit and pressed a cup to your lips. “Drink,” he said, and before your brain could even process the command, you were already doing as he said. “She can’t be awake now,” he mumbled. Was he talking to you? “It’s too soon. It’s all still too close. You’ve got to let her do some more healing first.” You drained the cup and tried to turn your head away, but already it felt ten times heavier than it had when you’d first awakened. He lowered you back to pillow and stooped a little to meet your gaze, as bleary as it was. “It’s alright, lass. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.”

“Thorin,” you whimpered. Maybe. Were you speaking out loud? What had happened to him? Had anyone brought him back inside? He wasn’t still out there in the cold, was he? Had he been buried already, all while you were sleeping here? You still had a thousand questions you needed to ask, but your tongue seemed to be growing too large for your mouth, too heavy, too weak. You struggled to focus on Balin’s face until he smiled faintly and reached to press your eyelids closed. Perhaps someone somewhere took pity on you, or perhaps Balin’s medicine was even stronger than you’d expected, because just as you slipped back into unconsciousness, you could have sworn that you felt someone’s breath, warm against your ear as Thorin whispered something in a low soothing tone.

***

The next time you opened your eyes, the world had that soft, foggy quality that you had come to associate with dreams. So you weren’t awake then, only…dreaming that you were awake? Your limbs still felt like they weighed ten thousand pounds, but at least you could breathe without feeling your lungs seize up in your chest. A fair enough trade-off, then. You didn’t bother trying to sit up.

From what you could see, you were in an infirmary. There was a fire crackling against the far wall, and dozens of other beds all crammed into the room with you. At least half of them were full: mostly with unidentifiable lumps under sheets. Some were snoring while others were as still as the grave. You didn’t like this place.

And something was still holding your hand. With great effort, you managed to pull away—and regretted it immediately. It had been someone else’s hand, someone warm, and now the chill in the air settled against your skin and made you shiver. They gave a great snore, and then sputtered a bit, as though your movement had startled them awake. When you looked over, your stomach gave a painful flip. There beside you, sat Thorin, and the intensity with which he was looking at you threatened to stop your heart. There was a nasty slice through his face, going from his forehead down the side of his nose, but he looked lively enough. Alive enough.

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered, and immediately regretted it. If this was a dream, then he could very well still be dead. What’s more, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he laughed at you and reminded you that he was, in fact, dead, no thanks to you. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t have to watch his face as he tried to decide how to respond and, to your everlasting shame, an acid tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. Maybe if you concentrated hard enough, you could simply dream that Thorin would disappear.

You didn’t bother to try.

You didn’t have the strength for that either.

“Nearly so,” Thorin finally answered. His voice was gruff even as he parroted Balin’s words back at you. “But how could I leave this plane without making certain that you were well?”

“I’m fine,” you answered again before you could stop yourself. At least this time you managed to keep from trying to sit up. Was that all he was here for? Checking to make sure you’d survived the battle that he hadn’t? It was a Thorin enough thing to do. He’d been the one to look after the whole Company on the journey to take back the Mountain.

“You’re fine,” he repeated, with a bitter scoff. “That’d explain why they had to sew your guts back inside your body like a child’s toy.” The thought made you cringe. You would have turned away, except for the fact that his hand came to rest upon your cheek. He felt solid. A few more tears leaked out of your eyes before you could clench them shut tighter.

“I watched you die.” It was a plea. Don’t be angry with me, Thorin. Let me have this. One last almost-memory with him that you could keep with you when you woke up.

“I’m right here. Open your eyes. Look at me, love.” The endearment thrust your backward in time, through memories of stolen glances in the fire’s flickering light. The first time you’d gathered up the courage to sit beside him, and the way your heart had pounded in your chest. Secret smiles, endearingly soft on his otherwise-stony face. The first time he kissed you: in the middle of a heated argument, his cheeks had suddenly flushed pink only moments before he’d grasped your shoulders and slanted his lips across yours. Arguments. So many arguments, each and every one of them stupid and meaningless now that you knew what waited ahead. The knowing smirks you sometimes caught on the faces of the others when the two of you finally rejoined the group after…making up after each stupid argument, and the way that just one half-smile from him could make you not care about the teasing from the others.

It took a long time, but when you finally felt you’d regained enough control over your emotions, you opened your eyes. Thorin was still there. He sat stiffly in a chair beside the bed, but when he saw you looking at him, he leaned closer. Like Balin’s, his face was set with exhaustion, but his eyes seemed to lighten as they took in the sight of you. There was so much you still needed to say, but you didn’t trust your voice. You didn’t trust anything. How many candles had there been the first time you’d woken up here? You couldn’t shake the feeling that, if only you could remember that, you could determine whether this was all real.

“We have lost so many,” he said. “So many…”

The names of your friends sprang to your lips, but you didn’t dare ask after them. It wasn’t that it was better not to know; it was just that…if you could help it, you wanted to keep Death’s icy touch as far from this dreamscape as you could. Here you had Thorin. That would have to be enough, at least for now.

“I almost lost you. You were one of the last ones found alive,” he continued after a long silence. “You were nearly gone. When they brought you here, I touched you myself. All of the warmth had gone out of you. I thought the world had frozen over. I wanted to help them, but…” He gestured weakly towards his chest. His heart? It was hard to be sure, but maybe you could remember Azog’s blade sinking into Thorin’s chest.

“Did it hurt?” Your voice cracked, but maybe that was okay here. “Did you feel very alone?” You didn’t really want to hear the answer to either of those questions, but you couldn’t take them back now. The best you could do now was remind yourself that, whatever he said, it was likely garbage, made up by your own mind to comfort or punish you. None of this mattered.

“It didn’t hurt at all, until I realized what was happening. I didn’t even feel particularly alone, until I heard what they were saying about you. You lost too much blood, and then an infection poisoned what little you had left. You were dying, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“No…” He’d misunderstood what you were asking. But it was getting hard to focus your eyes on him. You blinked several long, slow blinks and struggled to meet his eyes. His forehead creased.

“You need to sleep,” he said, in that annoying Kingly tone of voice. There was no arguing with that tone. When he reached to close your eyes for you, you turned your head away and tried to protest. There was no telling when you’d be able to see him again, if indeed you ever could. You didn’t want to sleep through this. But he just shushed you and stroked your cheek tenderly. “I’ll be here when you wake up again, love of mine. I promise you that.”

When you tried to protest again, the only sound you found yourself capable of making was a quiet whimper, which you cut off immediately, feeling childish. You reached out for him, grasping blindly for his hand. Within moments, he had folded both of your hands safely within his, and brought them to his lips. When you fell asleep again, it was to the gentle press of his lips against your skin.

***

The third time you woke up, you were simply…tired. You were more certain this time that you were actually awake. When you turned your head to the side, you could see the chair beside the bed, but it was empty. Perhaps it had been empty the whole time. You drew in a slow breath, noting with some relief that there was almost no pain associated with the action. Emboldened by this knowledge, you tried to sit up, and found that it was almost possible.

“Hey!” The voice came from someone across the room, though they weren’t quite shouting: perhaps trying to get the attention of someone closer to them? “Hey! She’s awake! You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know that? Fee, look alive! She’s awake!”

Kili. You couldn’t stop the grin the spread across your face, or the way your heart surged with equal parts joy and relief. Before you could even find the words to greet the prince across the room, someone in the bed next to him began to stir, and your smile split even wider. Fili. “My boys,” you managed. “Have you been here all this time?” It couldn’t be a dream this time, it just couldn’t.

“Since the end of the battle,” Kili said and, though his voice was mostly heavy, you could hear some trace amount of pride in it as well. It was well-deserved, you thought to yourself with a small smile. “It was scary for a while, what with you and Fili both lying at death’s door, but here we all are.” As if on cue, Fili was finally able to pull himself up into a sitting position and offer you a weak smile. Their faces were dark, exhausted, but you couldn’t quite find the answer to the question you were most afraid to ask. Your time with Thorin, that had been a dream. You’d watched him die, and in response, your mind had conjured up a few last moments to try to give you some peace. That was all. To get your hopes up like this was a mistake. You already knew the answer. Moreover, to ask the princes about their uncle would only remind them of their loss. They didn’t need that now. You had to let them heal.

Gingerly, you reached behind your back to adjust the pillows, then leaned back and rested your head against the wall. Healing. It was a task that, right now, felt even more impossible than winning the battle. Who else had been lost? What was the next step for the kingdom? Did you even have a place here? Where were the dead? Where was Thorin?

Your eyes stung, but you refused to let any more tears fall. There was time enough for that—an entire lifetime for you, now—but it would have to wait until you were somewhere more private. Fili and Kili did not need to see your tears. No one did. Instead, you kept your eyes closed and half-listened as the princes chatted back and forth. When would this exhaustion go away? You couldn’t even focus on the sounds of their voices long enough to follow their conversation. One of them said the word “uncle”, and you flinched, but fought to tune them out.

And then, from beside you, there came a low rumble. Laughter? Familiar laughter? Your eyes shot open and you turned your head to look at the occupant of the bed next to you. He was there. He was there. Laughing at something one of his nephews had said and turning to meet your wide-eyed gaze.

“You’re here,” you said. Without meaning to, you had shot straight up in bed. It seemed that both your chest and belly were on fire, but that hardly seemed important, all things considered.

“Just as I said I would be.” How could he sound so peaceful? He’d been dead only moments ago, and now he was right there beside you?

“The stubborn mule refused to leave that chair until Balin said his fever was too high and threatened to have him carried out to his room if he didn’t lie down,” Kili said. You couldn’t even blame him for taking so much joy from of the situation, because your heart was soaring.

“I thought it was a dream,” you finally whispered, and threw the blankets off of you. The others in the room cried out with concern as you launched yourself to your feet and, on legs that threatened to give out at any moment, closed the distance between your bed and Thorin’s. Your cheeks were wet, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care right now. Thankfully, Thorin seemed to have anticipated your every move, because by the time you collapsed onto his bed, he’d already moved over a bit to make room for you.

“You’ve ripped out some stitches,” he admonished, brushing his fingers against the front of your tunic, where scarlet bloodstains were already glowing. Didn’t he see that it didn’t matter? You sank down against him, wrapping your arms around him (and, unfortunately, making him grunt in pain when you jostled his wound) and hid your face in his shoulder. You couldn’t stop your body from trembling. He was here.

“I watched you die,” you choked out. Your voice was muffled by his shoulder and his hair, but he must have heard you, because he held you tightly. You didn’t even mind when he jostled your wound. “But you’re here. You’re here.”

“Amrâlimê,” he whispered, and, as many times as you’d heard the word in the past, today it settled into your heart and began to warm you from the inside out. “I will always be here.”

The road ahead would be endlessly long, and full of heartbreak and loss, but as long as there was this, here, within your dwarven king’s embrace, you knew you would be able to find the strength to carry on.


End file.
